


Don't do the crime (if you can't do the time)

by dishonestdreams



Series: Fifteen Minute Scribbles [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Glitter, Prank Wars, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-07 01:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18863278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dishonestdreams/pseuds/dishonestdreams
Summary: Prank wars are sacred.  So is Darcy's coffee.This will not end well...





	Don't do the crime (if you can't do the time)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistressKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/gifts), [pushkin666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushkin666/gifts).



> Yet another fifteen minute challenge ficlet involving (minimal) cheating...
> 
> Prompt was _"MCU, Kettle"_

“The fuck?” Darcy said, and Clint cut his gaze away to the right, which was a surefire, rock solid sign that he was about to lie his ass off. Honestly, Darcy had no fucking idea how Clint had managed to convince anyone he was a super-spysassin and (yet again) she made a mental note to have a long, detailed discussion with Fury about how rigorous his hiring policies weren’t.

Looking back at her kitchen, she filed that thought away for later. Now was not the time to explore how Clint couldn’t lie for _shit_. Now was about understanding what the fuck had happened in here. Since there didn’t seem to be an explanation forthcoming, she tried again.

“The _fuck_ , Barton?!”

Clint shrugged. “No idea, Lewis,” he said easily. “I’m as confused and baffled as you are.”

Darcy stared at him. “There are unicorns on my oven,” she said slowly. “There are rainbows on my refrigerator, my icebox is full of chocolate coins and my kettle is oozing some weird fucking… _glitter gel_ that I am not touching with a ten foot pole. Barton, my coffee pot is _gone_. And you want me to believe that you have no idea how this happened?”

Clint shrugged again, and then leaned casually against the wall. “What do you want me to say? Contrary to the _lies_ Natasha spreads about me, I’m not actually responsible for overseeing every prank that gets pulled within these hallowed walls. This one’s not on me, babe.”

Darcy narrowed her eyes and jabbed a finger accusingly in his direction. “You’re a lying asshole,” she said, grumpily, “This might not be your style but I don’t believe for one second that you don’t know exactly who is responsible and you are _holding out on me_.”

Clint’s expression was positively wounded, and Darcy might feel guilty if she couldn’t see the way his eyes were twinkling. “Lewis, _Lewis_ ,” he said, “Are you asking me to _snitch_?! You should know better than anyone that that violates the unwritten rules of the prank war. Prank wars are _sacred_.”

Darcy opened her mouth to argue, and then paused, as a sudden, _terrible_ thought occurred to her. A thought that involved a _very_ good night, a bottle of tequila, a certain metal arm and Darcy’s entire collection of stick on nail art. “Did you say prank _war_?” she asked and Clint grinned.

“Pranks and counter-pranks, right? How else would you describe this?” he asked, innocently, and Darcy spun on her heel, making a beeline for the door.

“Barnes!” she yelled, and behind her, Clint started to laugh. “You fucker! Where’s my coffee pot?! You are a _dead man_!”


End file.
